


Bad Pick-Up Lines and Spilled Coffee

by agentmargaretcarter



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, also sorry the reader is automatically a clutz, decent not perfect, in which Barry is a decent wingman, it just worked like that, kind of started out just as shippy and now you and Patty are best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmargaretcarter/pseuds/agentmargaretcarter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Cisco x Reader fic, and also a bit more. It's essentially your first day at CCPD, and Patty is showing you around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Pick-Up Lines and Spilled Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile since I wrote some fic, especially one that I plan on making long-term, so constructive criticism is entirely appreciated. Also I promise the next chapter title will be more interesting. Enjoy.

You glance at your watch and relax. It’s 8:25, so you’re not late yet. The CCPD Station is clear in your line of sight, and you increase your pace from a walk to a jog, not stopping until you’ve reached the door.

There’s a woman in uniform scanning the sidewalk while rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She notices you and perks up. “Hi!” She extends a hand towards you. “You must be [Y/N]. I’m Patty. Patty Spivot. Police officer. Meta-human task force member. The captain assigned me to show you around.”

“Nice to meet you,” you respond, shaking her hand. Patty seems nice, though her tightly-wound bun and proud posture would typically suggest otherwise. She has a warm smile and a glint of hope in her eye— a rarity in a cynical field.

“Woo. Good firm grip you’ve got there. Come on in.” She holds the door open for you and gestures toward the interior.

The door flutters shut behind you and Patty hooks her arm in yours. “This is the lobby, the more bustling part of this place.” A small dip in the floor makes you stumble a bit. “Oh sorry! Watch out for that. The Boot fired accidentally a few days ago, and we haven’t gotten a chance to fix it.”

“The Boot?”

“It’s one of Cisco’s inventions for capturing metahumans. You’ll probably meet him soon enough.” She leads you over to an office area.

“Metahumans are those people with powers, right?” You’ve heard of them in the papers, but never interacted with them. The possibility was only briefly mentioned in the interview, though Patty made it sound more integral to the job.

“It’s a bit more complex than that, but yeah. We’ve teamed up with STAR Labs to build our forces against them.”

“Neat,” you reply, but you’re now more interested in the desk in front of you. A small plated name tag with your name etched in tiny letters sat atop of it. Unlike the desks around it, there’s no clutter or papers, just a three compartment paper-holder and a red coffee mug with a bow on top of it. 

“Clearly this is your desk,” informs Patty. “Feel free to make yourself at home, because you’ll probably be here for a while.” After you set your coat and paper cup down, she picks up the mug from your desk and plops it in your hands. “Captain Frye mentioned you said you liked coffee in your interview, so we got you this.”

“Aw. Thank you,” you say to Patty. First you flick out the note attached to it. It reads “Congratulations! Welcome to the Force!” and is signed by what you can assume is the entire department by the sheer amount of tiny scribbles. You take off the bow and see a yellow lightning bolt insignia on the side and your name written under it.

Patty picks up an identical mug off of another desk, though it bared her name instead of yours. “A lot of us have them. The Flash is something of a mascot for us now.” She set it back down.

“Have you met him?” you inquire curiously.

“Once or twice,” she tries to reply nonchalantly, but giggles a bit. “He’s a sweetheart. Joe knows him better than I.”

“Joe?”

“That’s Detective West to you,” a man chimes in. You whirl around and in the desk behind you is an older black man shuffling some papers. Unlike you and Patty who are in uniform, he wore a simple button up shirt and tie.

“This is [Y/N],” Patty introduces. 

“Nice to meet you.” Detective West holds his hand out and you shake it, then he returns to shuffling his papers. “Have you introduced her to Barry yet?”

“IIIII was just about to,” Patty drawled. You swap your new mug out for your paper cup before she grabs your arm and tugs you towards the stairs. 

You know she doesn’t mean to, but she moves more quickly than you do. It’s not hustle, it’s brisk and natural spryness, and you struggle to keep up with her.

Suddenly there’s a solid chest in your face, your coffee cup out of your hand, and you’re falling backwards. You hear a “oh sh-” and there’s arms around you, and someone helping you to steady yourself. “Thank you,” you stammer out, and then look up.

Gazing back down at you are carob-colored eyes that could only possibly be described as whimsical. Accompanying them is a quirky smile spread over a gorgeous and soft-looking mouth. Your rescuer has a rounded face framed with long black hair, and suddenly you realize you’re staring.

“Thank you,” you repeat.

“No problem,” he replies, breath shaking slightly. “Anytime.”

“Well I hope I won’t constantly be tripping, but it’s nice to know you’ll be there.” He smells like strawberry candy to the point that it’s almost distracting.  
Suddenly you’re aware Patty is beside you once again. “Oh my god. Are you okay?” she exclaims frantically.

“I’m fine.” You glance at the torso of the man who is still holding you. “But his shirt sure isn’t,” you admit.

“What, this old thing?” He scoffs. “It’s seen a lot worse than spilled coffee. Just ask Barry.”

“I do his laundry,” calls a voice from the top of the stairs. You look up to see a thin man with ruffled up hair. “It’s insane.”

“Ah yes,” interjects Patty. “Barry meet [Y/N], [Y/N] meet Barry. And [Y/N], this is the Cisco I mentioned earlier. And Cisco you are clearly acquainted with [Y/N].”

“Patty, can I talk to you in the lab quick?” Barry requests.

“But I need to finish showing [Y/N]-” Barry raises an eyebrow, and Patty smacks herself dramatically in the center of her forehead. “This is about the thing!”

“Yes… the… thing! That thing! It’s very important.”

Patty turns to you. “Upstairs is the lab. Bathrooms are behind the desk. There’s not much else to show, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Maybe Cisco can help you.” She winks and trots up the stairs, disappearing into the lab with Barry.

“Wow. I’m shocked she didn’t give you the entire ‘Barry is my boyfriend and he is perfect’ gush,’ comments Cisco.

“I wouldn’t have minded. Patty seems nice.”

“Not as nice as you.” Cisco smirks. You can’t help but break out into giggles. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That was a bad line.”

“No no,” you assure, blushing slightly. “It works on you.”

A man coming down the steps behind Cisco smacks him lightly with a newspaper. “Just because you’ve got a girlfriend, Cisco, doesn’t mean you can clog up the stairway.”

“Oh. Sorry, Captain,” he apologizes. Neither of you had realized that you are still standing in the middle of a staircase, holding each other. 

“We should probably move,” you say.

“Yup.”

You stand a few more seconds.

Cisco and you walk down the stairs together. “I’m sorry about Rob, back there. Thinking that you were my girlfriend and all.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” you assure him.

“I mean, unless you want to be. My girlfriend that is.”

“That depends. Is that a line or a genuine offer?”

“Definitely a line.”

“In that case.” You take grab a pen and pad off of the front desk and quickly jot down your number. Ripping the page off, you hand it to Cisco. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

~~~~~

“You did not.”

“Oh but I did.”

“Did you really use your speed to push [Y/N] into my arms? How desperate do you think I am?”

“It worked didn’t it?”

“Touché, Bar. Touché.”


	2. Things Are Going Well, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: so I forgot about the chapter two that I wrote previously, so here's a new one, because I'm trash and have an entirely new storyline planned haha. Special thanks to Kassy for reminding me this story exists- it's a great little indulgence for me that I haven't worked on in a while. Expect Chapter 3 really soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all I did vent some frustrations with certain movies here lmao sorry not sorry. Also theres a quick blink-and-you'll-miss-it podcast reference.

You and Cisco had set up a movie date to see the next installment in the Awe Movie Dimension: a superhero franchise basically churning things out on a formula for cash, but at a better quality than their competitors. You always saw each one and followed along to get your superhero movie fix, and each time, you were still stupidly giddy.

You had opted out of your typical fan gear for a casual drop dress (don’t want to frighten the poor man by looking like TOO much of a fan), and now you stood in your bathroom mirror trying to tame your hair. For some reason, it only decides to be pesky when you want it to look nice. You try braiding it in places and use at least 20 bobby pins, but still find yourself incredibly dissatisfied. Then your apartment doorbell rings. 

“One moment please!” you shout.

As you walk to the door, you snag a stray beanie from your coffee table. Then you pause, turn back and run to your room and pull off a few superhero logo pins and stick them in. You pull it over your messy excuse for hair and stride up to your door.

You answer the door and immediately say, “Sorry for making you wait-”

“No, no don't apologize. It's okay,” he answers quickly. “Nice Major Rogers pin.” He points at the pin of the shield on your hat, your favorite pin actually, but he seems slightly distracted. His soft brown eyes are intent on your face, and his mouth ever so slightly agape.

“Thanks,” you reply. 

“Sorry,” he shakes his head slightly and blinks. “I just, well, when hot coffee is burning your chest, you don't take in exactly every detail of a person’s face, and well, you're really beautiful.”

“No, no don't apologize either.” You smile. “Ready to go?”

He extends an arm as though he were an 1800s gentleman escorting you to a ball rather than a 2000s date taking you to a movie. You hook your arm through his and walk down the hall, feeling slightly awkward at first due to the silence and also because neither of you seem to have been on a date in a while.

Once you reach the elevator, Cisco pushes the button and speaks, “So like, I don't want to weird you out, but I really like comics and superheroes so if I fanboy a little too hard, let me know and I'll simmer down. They're just doing one of my favorite arcs-”

“With the reintroduction of his friend Jim! Me too! But it looks like they've got Simon Wil in there, so I wonder who the next Major will be.”

“My money is on Jim. The brainwash recovery arc will give it more conflict on screen-”

You chat excitedly about your theories all the way to his car, which was actually a van, which is a little bit of a red flag for you. You became a little nervous when he held the passenger door open for you, but were relieved when you looked in back and saw a bunch of lab equipment and a computer set-up; Patty had told you that Cisco and Barry worked closely with STAR Labs. He got in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, it's a mess, but it gets me from A to B.”

“No it's cool. My car is a literal trash heap.”

“Not as much of a trash heap as Private Eye Comics movies.”

“Except ‘The Amazon’!” you say in unison, and your superhero chatter resumed. You enjoyed having someone to nerd out with, because it let you explore a typically repressed side around men, and your walls from past relationships and bitter times of singleness fell away. Sure you hadn't been talking long, but he exuded some sort of vibe that made you comfortable. Your conversation drifted from movies to your job and his job- the default with all adults- and you expected the speaking to stall, but somehow you never ran out of words. The fifteen minute drive to the theater felt like fifteen seconds. You couldn't remember a date ever starting this well. 

“-but then Caitlyn fell into the ketchup puddle, and took the Flash down with her and he broke his tailbone, and it's all because of the dog loose in the lab,” he finished his story as you walked into the theater.

You look up and a worker is putting a “sold out” sign over your showtime. Of course the date couldn't have gone perfectly. You were never that lucky. 

“Aw no,” said Cisco. “I knew I could never be lucky.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, this date was going well so far, too well.”

“I was thinking the same thing!”

“Luckily, I am used to preparing for the worst.” You start to walk back to the van together. Cisco continued, “Have you been to CC Jitters yet? It's this great coffee shop, but I mean if you think it's too late for coffee, maybe we could hit up up Big Rico’s for pizza?”

“It's never too late for coffee,” you answer.

“Awes-” Cisco was interrupted by a scream from the theater, followed by an explosion on the roof.

“Good thing the movie was sold out,” you say, and then you dash into the theater. 

“Y/N! Wait!” you heard Cisco call after you, but the shrieks of injured people were louder, and those people needed your help.


	3. The Theater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi I bet you didn't expect two updates so close muahahahaha im on a roll expect chapter four real soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/N rushes in.

You flash your badge at the flustered workers as you run in and shout, “Evacuate!”. You just restrain yourself from calling the frightened teens “idiots” for being nonreactive. 

Yellow smoke pours out of the theater nearest you. You get on your hands and knees and crawl in.

The sight is a horror show. Adults are writhing on the ground and choking. Children seem utterly unaffected, but are panicking. There's a hole in the ceiling, assuredly where the gas bomb exploded, and the whole room seems to be falling apart.

A little girl near you stands under a large and precariously swinging wall light, and without thinking you throw yourself over her. The light falls and hits you square on the back. 

But you feel no pain, and it rolls off of you. When you look over your shoulder the light lies on the ground, smashed. You're not harmed.

“Are you hurt?” you ask the girl, moving off of her and sitting down. 

“No,” she murmurs.

Now you feel a tingle in the back of your throat, and you pull the top of your dress over your nose to try to filter the gas out. “What's your name, dear?”

“Lily.”

“Lily. Lovely little Lily. I need your help.” The little girl nods. You continue, “There are a lot of kids in this theater, and I need you to convince them to go outside because it's safer, okay. Tell them that the police are going to save their parents, okay?”

“Are you the police?”

“I'm some of it.” You smile. You cough. “Now go.”

She scurries off, and you turn to the man nearest you, and try to get him to stand. He's leaning heavily on you, but you notice that it doesn't feel so heavy. You try to pick him up over your shoulder, and to your surprise it works. 

You run out of the theater and place him just outside the doors. “Someone call 9-1-1!” Those might be your last words, because like hell are you leaving the rest of those people in the building. As you run back in, you notice a herd of children with some stumbling adults from a different theater coming out, still lead by Lily. A child breaks off from the groups and goes to another theater while Lily checks another. The explosion seemed very localized, but the little girl was making sure everyone got out. You couldn't have been more proud if she were your own daughter.

You step into the theater and the gas hits again. It's definitely weaker now that it has diffused more. Some adults are standing up. 

You shout your name and that you’re here to help, and you start to help others rise. You get five people to lean on each other's shoulders. All of you are wheezing, but all of you are going.

When you get outside this time, you fall to your knees on the pavement and wretch, and you’re frightened to see some blood in the mix. You get up again, and move to rush back in, but someone grabs your arm.

“They need help!” you cry.

“You need help,” says Cisco. 

You try to pull away and fall, but arms are around you again. The smell of strawberry candy. “You really ought to stop doing this,” you mumble, “I'm kind of heavy.”

“I'm willing to deal with that.”

Your head lolls to the side and the last thing you see before your eyes close is a streak of lightning.


	4. A Weird Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got an actual plot line now you can't stop me. In which there are feeling and kisses and fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three updates in one night bitch woot. This is the most I've written in three months tho so please like I would love feedback.

You've never before received a frosted cookie cake that said, “Sorry our first date ended with you almost dying” yet there it was on the bedside table in your hospital room. There was also a set of “Get Well Soon” balloons and a scented candle from Patty. 

What intrigued you most was the small envelope with sloppy handwriting addressed to “Part of the Police”. You carefully peeled off the star-shaped sticker sealing it.

“Thank you for saving me. And thank you for telling me to go get the other kids. They were very scared and it was nice to help them. I made a friend named Ray. Most adults act stupid. I want to be a police officer like you when I'm older.

Thank you again,  
Lily”

There were lots of hearts drawn all over the card, and a labeled drawing of the ordeal was included (small arrows that said “You” and “Me” and “Light”), and another smaller slip of paper inside it. It was from Lily’s mom and addressed to “The Shield” (explaining that she didn't know your real name), thanking you even more profoundly. Both letters filled you with joy. You set them down on your bedside table and drifted back into sleep.

When you started to wake up, you refrained from moving because you heard voices.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Cisco.” A woman's voice that you didn't recognize.

“Well I didn't pick her. She kind of fell into me?” Cisco’s voice. 

Someone cleared their throat.

“And Barry helped,” Cisco qualified sheepishly.

The woman again. “You're adorable.”

Then it was Barry’s voice. “Just try not to nearly kill her the next time you take her out.”

“She rushed into the building! I couldn't stop her. You should have seen her though. When she pulled away from me, there was this wrinkle of determination across her brow. She ran into that building with abandon, only caring for the people inside. The first time she came out, there was a full grown man over her shoulder. Her hat had fallen off and there was this huge tear on the back of her dress. She looked like a literal warrior. And if that wasn't enough, she ran back in. Five more people out because of her.”

“Tell her the Flash sends his thanks,” said Barry.

“And then she fell in my arms and- God I know it's been a short time, but we've been texting back and forth before our date, and we talk so well together. I felt open with her, and I thought she- I mean- I just thought for a moment that I had lost the most amazing opportunity in my life.”

“Oh, Cisco,” said the woman consolingly.

Suddenly eager to see him, you shift a little to make it seem as though you're starting to wake up, and you feel a hand grab yours. You open your eyes and Cisco is at eye level with you. “Hey,” he says, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Hi.” You just stare at each other for a bit, his thumb making small circles on the back of your hand. Barry clears his throat again.

“Oh yeah.” He lets go and gestures. “You remember Barry, and this is Caitlyn.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and you sit yourself up and shake her hand. 

“And you too.” You could tell already that you would be good friends. Addressing the group as a whole, you ask, “So what happened?”

“We think we're dealing with a gas that only affects adults,” explained Caitlyn, pulling a monitor over. “I know it kind of looks like you’re in a hospital, but we brought you and some other majorly injured victims to STAR labs, along with some of the kids who were fine. The chemical seems to only attack matured cells.” An animation showing the movement of the gas and some science statistics about what was happening in your body showed up. You didn't really understand the details, but thought was nice of Caitlyn to show you everything anyway.

“What's it made of?”

“We don't know.”

“And why the movie theater?”

“As good of place as any? You're asking the right questions, but I don't think we have the right answers.”

“We’re going to find them though,” says Cisco firmly.

You take his hand again. “Could I have a moment with Cisco quick, guys?”

The two left the room leaving you and Cisco alone. He's tracing circles on your hand again, but this time more nervously. He sighs, “I'm so, so sorry.”

“What? That I ran into a building full of poison gas?” You laugh. “You did try to stop me.”

“But I should have tried harder. I was just so shocked-” He seems to falter and lose his words, and then leans over and kisses your forehead. “I'm just happy you're okay.”

“I am too. We still have a date to finish.”

“Well, your gown is a little too formal for coffee. Maybe you want to settle back in for a bit?”

“Stay with me?”

“Sure.” He pulls the line armchair in the room closer and skts down. “Should I keep holding your hand?”

“Yeah. But I am a little hungry. You might have to let go to help me eat that cookie cake,” you joke.

“I-uh- I thought it would make you smile.”

You lean over and kissed him on the forehead in return, your chest and lungs aching as you did so, but you ignore it best you can. “You thought right.” You pull the cake plate onto your lap and pull off the lid. “Do you have anything to cut this with?”

“Damn.” He looks around and grabs a scalpel from a nearby tray. He holds it over the flame of the candle for a bit, you guess to sanitize it, and then begins to cut the cookie. You spend the whole afternoon enjoying each other’s company.


	5. More than just a game for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for 3 fluff filler chapters! It was going to be 3 mini stories in one chapter, but the middle one got too long. This one is a little short though, but enjoy!

“Check,” says Cisco. He was so sweet, keeping you entertained while you were bedridden at Star Labs for the next three days. You had at least gotten to the point where you could sit up, and after several rounds of solitaire on your tiny table, Cisco had walked in, board games in hand. He'd spent the past half hour teaching you chess, and while he seemed to be holding himself back, he always ended up compromising your strategies. 

You notice he is biting his lip, trying to plan based on how you might adjust to the check. There must be some edge you have on him, though you don't know what. You have options this round. There is no way to take the bishop that threatened your king; so you could either sacrifice a rook, your queen (unlikely), or your own bishop. In the end, you decide to move the king itself forward a square. 

“I like that look on your face. It's cute,” he says casually, retreating his bishop two spaces. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “That one too. If I'm honest, every look on your face is a winner.”

“But I may be the winner of this game.” Leaning over the board and smirking, all while looking him right in the eyes, you move a knight in position to take his king. “Check.”

He leans over too as he moves his king left a space. Your faces are inches apart. However, as he moves, Cisco doesn't maintain eye contact like you did. His eyes momentarily flick to your lips, then back up. 

You look down shyly, but you notice something about the board. “Uh, Cisco?” You readjust yourself to your normal upright position. “Can't you not move yourself into check?”

He sits back too. “But I can't move any oth– you've got me in checkmate.”

“So?”

“You won! Nice!” He holds his hand up for a high-five, and of course you smack it. He quickly grabs it, wincing. “You sure you're sick? You've got quite the strong slap there.”

You roll your eyes, knowing he's joking with you. “Want a rematch?”

Cisco sarcastically rolls his eyes too and sighs overdramatically. “I guess. Even though you've injured my playing hand.” He starts resetting the pawns on the board.

As he does, you lightly touch his hand. He stops and looks up at you, puzzled. You slide your hand under his and gently pull it to your lips and kiss it. Then you set it back down. “There. All better.”

He smiles and continues resetting the pieces.


	6. Dogs and a Slight Memory Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just trying to space out posting because I really don't usually write as much as I have been writing lately, so i don't want to get your hopes up, but here we are. If it helps, my hopes are up for myself. Also you may hate me a little after next chapter but I promise that you will get payoff.

Cisco poked his head in your door. “Hey, remember that dog I told you about? The one that is indirectly responsible for breaking the Flash’s hip?”

“Of course. I might have inhaled potentially deadly neurotoxins that evening, but I couldn't forget one of our first conversations.”

“Do you want to meet her?” He opens the door with his shoulder, and in his arms is a big German Shepherd who looks absolutely delighted about being held. 

“Oh my God!” You sit up in bed as he sets the dog on it. She's excited to meet a new person, but calm enough not to lunge at you. You coo “Hello”s and “Who's a Good Girl?”s and scratch her behind the ears. 

“Caitlyn says you should start walking today. And being that Eliza is still here for study, I thought we could walk her, too.”

“A meta dog? So her bark /is/ stronger than her bite?” you joke.

“I mean, she wouldn't bite anyone, but actually it's just that when she gets really excited, her tail is an actual destructive force.” As he says that, you stop petting her, not wanting to set her off. “But only when she's like, really really excited. She's fine if you're petting her.” He scratched behind her ears. 

“Is she really supposed to be in the medical ward?”

“Well… uh… no. But Caitlyn thinks you're cool, so she probably won't yell at me... too much.” 

You laugh and lightly push Eliza off of the bed. You swing your legs over, so ready to move after so much rest, but then stop. “Uh, Cisco? I'm in an open-backed hospital gown?”

“Oh right!” He went to the small closet in your room and pulled back the folding door. In a fresh cleaning bag was the dress you had worn for the date. “We didn't find your hat, sorry.”

“Understandable. Is that theater even still standing?”

“Most of it, thank God.” And then he just stood there, waiting.

“Uh, Cisco? I need to change.”

“Oh. Oh! Right! Come on, Eliza,” he says while attaching a small leash to her and then begins to lead her out of the room. “See you on the other side!” He shuts the door gently behind him. 

You find the floor unexpectedly firm beneath your feet. There's no dizziness, no weakness. Even though you seem fine, you're skeptical of yourself, and use the rails on your bed for support you don't need as you walk to the closet. 

You get the dress out and see that the back of it has been stitched back together in a few places, likely from falling debri, but you slide it on over your head and it fits just fine, so at least no chunks of fabric had been taken out of it. 

You walk to the door, only grazing your hand across potential supports as you gain the confidence to walk normally, and open it. 

“I just got deja vu,” says Cisco. “Except this time, you're not wearing a hat, and I have a dog.”

“We had to try a first date again sometime, didn't we?” You playfully nudge his shoulder and fall into step beside him. He's going as slow as possible to make it easier for you to keep pace, which is hard to do when walking a dog.

“So we're still dating? After that disaster? I mean not that I don't want to!” he blurted. “I just thought it was unlikely.” It was cute to see him a little flustered.

“Well, I want to. I don't suppose you play board games or smuggle dogs with the other patients, do you?” 

“I could, but I don't think I'd have as good of a time.” 

The walk was absolutely lovely, even if it was only a few laps around the building. The only being that might have had a better time than you two was Eliza, who wanted to greet every stranger. 

“So, can I ask you something?”

To you, “can I ask you something” feels like a dangerous phrase, so your reply is more shaky than you intend. “Sure.”

“That night, you just ran in there? How did you do that?”

“Well, I put one leg in front of the other.” The gas was an uncomfortable topic for you. You didn't really want to revisit the terror and pain again, even though Caitlyn had been so sweet and careful when getting information for the investigation. 

“I just– I mean– cop instinct probably– but most people would have approached with more caution. No offense. It just sort of worries me that you didn't seem to care about yourself.” 

“Some days, I don't care,” you sigh. “Of course, there's some base instinct in the back of my mind that says, ‘hey, idiot, you need to survive.’ So I'll eat my breakfast and I'll go to work, but it's moreso to keep this sack of bones upright until I can go to sleep. There are other people I care about, and I'll get up for them. What if they need me? When it comes down to it, I care about myself just enough to make sure I can help others, because they shouldn't have to experience a sliver of how bad I feel on a daily basis. And I realize that I don't have it the worst, which, of course, only rekindles my self-loathing and guilt, but at the same time it makes me want to make other people’s worse, less worse. If that makes sense.”

He's silent, a worried look on his face. 

“Sorry. Got all dark there for a bit. But hey, maybe some of that is the pain meds.” You laugh to try to ease some tension.

The slight frown morphs into a big smile. “The best part of being sick is always blaming the meds.” He playfully punched your arm and you continued on your walk. 

\-----

As he returned Eliza to lock-up, a sad necessity, Cisco couldn't help but be smiling. You still wanted to date him!

Barry gave him a hard time for the loopy grin on his face, singing the old “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” rhyme. To which Cisco retorted, “No we haven't!” He wanted to. He really wanted to. He just wanted to be sure there were no painkillers or anything in your system that would make you more susceptible to wanting to kiss him. He didn't want you to be vulnerable. He wanted you to be entirely yourself.

A funny girl who loves nerd stuff. A clutzy girl with an enchanting smile. A brave girl who thought others were more important than her, and was so, so wrong about that. He wanted to show you that you were wrong. Cisco didn't know why you seemed so important to him, so soon.


	7. What Rich Desire Unlocks its Door

You turned off the tap and pulled your towel into the shower with you. You dried off your hair, wrapped the towel around you and stepped out onto the tile and into your room. You noticed it was a little slick from the steam of your shower, but thought nothing of it. 

You were especially happy while getting ready today, because it was the day of your discharge. Caitlyn had taken you off your drip this morning, and you didn't know whether it was excess morphine in your system or the sun shining through your window, but you felt amazing. Your room had a wall mirror, which you jokingly posed and flexed in front of after you put your hair up. 

You began humming to yourself some of your favorite songs as you cleaned your face, but you noticed some of them lacked the fire that was in your emotions at the moment, so you kept switching. Your mind began to latch onto a very familiar melody, albeit one you hadn't thought of in a while.

“You have come here,  
In pursuit of your deepest urge…”

You began humming out the melody and slightly twirling around the room, but then you considered that you didn't need to constrain yourself. Good emotions are good for you. Part of the way through the song, you began singing in your most dramatic voice possible, “Passed the point of no return, no backward glances

 

Our games of make-believe are at an end.” You noticed you were stepping and moving with emphasis, as if you were dancing with your own Christine in your hospital room. You even threw in some vibrato to give he illusion that you were some Broadway star. You were making believe, but don't we all deserve to, sometimes?

“Passed all thought of if or when, no use resisting  
Abandon thought and let the dream descend.  
What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks it’s do–”

“Hey, Y/N–” The door was opening and you had not been paying attention. Cisco had walked into the room and, startled, you had misstepped, and the wet tile floor took you down. You felt your feet collide with Cisco’s calves and heard him sputter.

You had bumped your head lightly on the floor on the way down, but given that when you looked up there was one Cisco, and you could focus on that one Cisco, you felt pretty secure in the knowledge that you did not have a concussion. 

The problem was that the man laying on top of you was the /only/ thing you could focus on

Your faces were so close, dear God, so close. Had they been this close before? Maybe, but you hadn't thought about kissing as much as you did now. You hadn't imagined how it'd feel to have those lips, that always looked softer than the finest fabric, crash down on yours. You hadn't imagined how it'd be to lightly run your fingers through that thick black hair, and then maybe pull a little tighter. You didn't want his hands at your sides, you wanted them /on/ your sides, or wherever else they may go, with a touch you knew would be precise and gentle. You didn't need to imagine his body on yours right now, but you wanted it to lose its current tension, for him to give in and lose himself to you.

Your lips parted, and you're not sure whether it was to say something, or to invite the kiss, but it didn't matter. Cisco rolled off you to the side and stood up. He offered you a hand. You didn't take it as you stood, trying to do so with a little huff in your demeanor that you doubt came across as well as you meant it to, clutching your towel tightly over you.

“‘Point of No Return’, right?”, he said, retracting his hand. That was not what you had expected him to say. “That's from ‘Phantom’, right? It’s one of the few musicals I actually know.”

“Yeah.” You're really not sure how to answer him right now, when all you wanted was to kiss him, and he had moved away with such urgency.

“You were singing the Phantom’s part pretty well, and I’d offer you a duet, but I'd be a lousy Christine.” His voice rose to a falsetto when he sang,”You have brought me, to the moment where words run dry!”

You laughed. Your previous ideas slipped away as you remembered just how much you loved being with Cisco, what a good friend he is. At this point, it wasn't even dating. You just enjoyed each other's company, and that romantic stuff had been in your head. What had you been thinking?

Why hadn't he wanted to kiss you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I love the falling into each other trope and it's become a thing with this couple so lol
> 
> Also, get it with the door thing? Clever or lame?


	8. Coffee, but not with him. Bad pick-up lines, with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm sorry here's a long chapter to make up for not posting for a while

You found yourself walking into CC Jitters, two days later, entirely recovered, but not with Cisco as you would have the night of your first date, but with your new best friend Patty.

You had felt bad about turning up at the CCPD station and then having to take immediate brief medical leave, but in between visits from Cisco, you had gotten a few from Patty when she could get away from the station. She always wanted you to feel welcome, and she shared case work with you to help ease your boredom (you don't know if she was technically supposed to remove those files from the station, but honestly who would stop her).

In your heart of hearts, you knew that she didn't /mean/ to talk your ear off, and while you don't mind, you wonder if she ever will stop. “-and honestly, I feel that the whole ‘metas will never be human’ rhetoric is just so harmful-”

And you had a thought. “Was the explosion at the theater metahuman work?”

Patty began to explain that in fact, she believed that the gas came from a meta’s powers, because the gas’s purpose seemed specific. A normal terrorist attack or villain would probably have not spared the children. As you approached the counter, she continued,“I mean, we shouldn't assume, but Cisco did detect the energy from two metas at the theater that night, not counting the Flash, that is. Do you like mocha?”

“Never tried it,” you answered, wondering how two metas would end up with the same power, then your thoughts drifting to Cisco.

“Well, we’ll change that.” She addressed the cashier now, “Hi. Two 16 ounce caramel mochas, please. One with an extra shot of espresso, please.”

You didn't pay attention while she and the cashier exchanged. You half-wondered if Cisco would show up now, because it sounded as though he frequents this place. The timing would be highly coincidental, but not entirely impossible, and maybe he was looking for you. He hadn't called or texted you since you left Star Labs.

The shop bell rang and you turn around with a look on your face that you know is too hopeful to not give away your feelings. The look slipped off your face the moment you realized it was not Cisco, but it was quickly replaced with a smile when you realized it was Caitlyn.

She looks a little frantic. “Can you do me a huge favor?”

“Anything.” She did save your life, after all.

She raked a hand through her hair and re-stated,“Okay, not fair. I should ask you first: Will you let me try to create an antidote for the gas in case of emergency in ways that will definitely involve some major pain for you?” 

You consider it carefully, remembering the night at the theatre, thinking that it would end then and there.You also remember, however, how you worried that you couldn't save enough people. If you could have saved them all, you would have done whatever was necessary. There was no way you would refuse Caitlyn. “Well, I guess I did say anything.”

“You don't have to.” Her tone was strained, as though she wanted to take all of the pressure off of you but knew she really needed a test subject.

“If all goes well, it’s going to help people, so it's worth some of my pain. I'm definitely in.”

\-----

“Really, Caitlyn?” Cisco wasn't exactly livid, but he was pacing and pulling at his hair. “People /died/ from that gas. She was in medical care for a week!”

“Well we can't very well test it on Barry! It attacks the bloodstream specifically, like a virus, and his abilities gave him a very active immune system. Once he was exposed to the gas, it adjusted immediately. It won't affect him anymore.”

“But why does it have to be her? I'll do it!”

“I need you on the equipment with me,” she explained. 

He took a breath in and exhaled deeply. “I mean just, I don't want to hurt her.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Then why haven't you spoken to her?”

“I have.” He was lying, but he was pretty sure there was the right amount of defensiveness in his tone to convince his comrade that he wasn't. He wants to text you, and he had opened your texts a million times, even turning off the read receipts so that you wouldn't think he'd looked at them and was purposefully ignoring you. You had sent only two messages.

/Hey, want to grab coffee?/

/How's my favorite STAR labs employee? (Eliza, not you :P)/

He hadn't known what to say. He kept wanting to only apologize, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but he knew you deserved an explanation, but he knew it probably hurt your feelings. 

Caitlyn held up his phone, which had been lying on the desk next to her. There was a new message from you on the screen: “Hey?”

“There wouldn't be a question mark if she knew you'd respond,” said Caitlyn firmly.

“Nosy.”

“Hey, you left it out. What happened?”

Cisco groaned and flung himself back into a chair, pulling the drawstrings of his hoodie tight over his face.

\-----

You walk in to find Caitlyn, with her hands on her hips, scolding a slumped figure in a chair. The figure turns and its Cisco, who looks bewildered that you're here. Caitlyn told him that you were coming, right?

Reevaluating, bewildered doesn't quite cover it. His head was tilted to the side, hair a little out of place, and his shoulders had tensed up while his left hand gripped the top of his chair tightly. Off-guard may be a more apt description. At the same time, he is gazing with you with such soft eyes that you want to forgive him for not responding to you, and to just stare into those beautiful, kind, comforting eyes for as long as you drew breath. You want that look he gives you to mean something that it might not mean.

“Hey, Cisco,” you greet nonchalantly, though there’s a myriad of less casual feelings that you'd both rather and rather not communicate. You don't want to give yourself away. You don't want to be as vulnerable as you were last time you saw him. Without waiting for Cisco’s response, you quickly say to Caitlyn, “Hi, Caitlyn. What should I do?”

“Right this way.” She directs you into a glass chamber about the size of a master bedroom. You start to step in, but Cisco says, “Wait.” 

He gets up, carrying some small disks in his hand. “You forgot the electrodes.”

“To monitor your vitals,” explains Caitlyn. “So we know the antidote is working on a non-superficial level.”

He hands Caitlyn three of the disks which she puts in various spots on your back. Cisco gently smoothes one of the electrodes onto your forehead, and has the lightest touch for each of the ones he puts on your upper chest. It may be your imagination, but you think you notice a blush creeping up his neck. 

“Good luck,” he says, and his hand brushes your arm as you turn and step into the first chamber. 

Caitlyn puts her hand on a lever on the outside of the chamber. “I'm going to seal the door, okay?”

“Yup! Makes sense!” Now you're being chipper to hide your nervousness. Watching Caitlyn's smile falter slightly, you know that she sees your bluff, but she's not going to call you on it. 

She flicks the switch, and the door begins to slowly swing shut while a small alarm trills. When the door is in the jam, you hear a hissing sound. Caitlyn, satisfied, walks back over to her desk by Cisco.

She picks up a small microphone on her desk. You hear a click. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” you reply. You open a second door and step into the next room. You assume the previous one had been a sort of airlock.

“Awesome. So the Flash bottled a sample of the gas the night of the fire, and since then, we've been trying to engineer an antidote, but we don't know if it will get into the bloodstream properly. We have three that we think are close, but hopefully the first time will be the charm. First, we are going to slowly leak the original gas into the room. Then we’ll follow up with the antidotes. If one doesn't work, we’ll immediately move to the second, then the third. If that doesn't work, we’ll suck the air out of the room best we can and then get you out. There's an oxygen tank in the corner so that you don't die while we re-filter the air. Got it?”

You give a double thumbs up. “Got it.”

“Holler, literally holler, if you need us to do something.” She sits down next to Cisco, who only flicks his gaze up at you for a millisecond in the smallest possible acknowledgement. Both of them have their hands hovering over the keyboard. “Ready?”

You nod.

The gas starts to fill the room. You didn't remember it being such a pretty shade of deep, almost oceanic, blue, but it had been mixed with smog from the explosion in the theatre. And you had had other things on your mind. As it begins to fill the chamber, you lose sight of Caitlyn and Cisco, and of anything else around you. It burns your eyes and instinctively you hold your breath, but then let it go when you remember what you are here to do. You remember every snippet of advice on concentration you've ever been given as you will yourself to breathe normally.

The breaths become harder to take, and you can feel your heart slow down in your chest, and the pounding headache at the base of your skull is impossible to ignore. You sit down. 

You reach out weakly and your fingertips brush glass. Now coughing, you haul yourself over to the surface and lean on it. 

Then the hiss of the gas changes, which you assume means the antidote is being released. You clamor up the wall to get higher, to be closer to the vents, and you start to see the dark blue smoke make way for a white one. You hold your coughs back best you can and inhale deeply.

You cough more, and through them you desperately shout, “Next! Please!”. You could support yourself upright before, but this is too much now. Every part of your body seems too heavy to support and all of that heaviness hurts. You sit again.

Another, grayer smoke spews from the vents. Your coughs begin to space out, and aren't as violent anymore. 

There was a click. “–lyn, I think that’s too much. It's too much of a depressant. Her heart rate is dropping and her breathing–”

“I'm noticing, and I'm switching to the third antidote.” Your eyes are closed now, but you hear the renewed hissing of the machine over the clacking keyboard noises from the speaker. At least you're not coughing anymore. This must be working.

Caitlyn is muttering, “No no no no no no no no.” More clearly, she says, “I'm starting the air drain.”

You hear one of the keyboards stop clacking. “Cisco, don't!”

More distantly you hear, “I'm just going to wait in the airlock!”

You hear the blowers reverse, and when you open your eyes you can see more clearly. You roll over, still pressing against the glass, and staring back at you is Caitlyn, who's face looks far too apologetic when something reassuring would have been so welcome. The air gets more breathable.

Then it gets thin. You lie down on your back and can see that the gas is still being pulled from the room, and with it goes precious oxygen. You take a deep breath and hold it, but find the air not quite pure enough, and once again you cough. 

Next thing you know, Cisco and Caitlyn are guiding you into a chair. You take a gulping inhale and your eyes fling open. As you settle yourself, one thing keeps going across your mind. “Did it work?”

“The third gas seemed to be the one,” explained Caitlyn. “But the second gas was just too much on you. If we'd had more time we would have spaced it out, but the good news is that you likely won't be back in a hospital bed.”

“Wonderful,” you say. Everything comes into focus around you slowly, but your senses seem highly alerted. It feels as though your brain is trying to catch up with the rest of you.

You have the chance now, and who knows if you'll have it again. “Hey Caitlyn, can I talk to Cisco alone, quick?”

She shoots him a look without sympathy for him, a look that says “don't screw up”, and she walks out of the room. 

“So, like, did I mess up?” you ask, all too aware of how meek it sounds.

“What? No.” He rests a hand on yours. “I mean, I see how you could have thought that, but no.”

“Then what did I do?” You withdraw your hand from his and stand up to assert yourself. His assurance gives you boldness, and that boldness came both from a sense of indignance at being mistreated without reason and from the hope of an apology and a reparation to your relationship. Your pulse is a booming bass in your ears.

“You messed nothing up. And I didn't know what to do. I hadn't meant to barge in like that, and you were naked! Not really but, in a way. And I was on top of you, and I almost made a mistake, and I got scared. Then you were in the chamber and you could have died, and if you keep almost dying on me I'm going to have to never see you again.”

“About half of that made sense.” The other half was giving you too much hope.

“Well, what I wanted to do was so stupid. Very very stupid, and it would have been so wrong to do in the moment, with you like that, and I just felt really bad. And I'm sorry for ignoring you. That was wrong and immature of me.”

“Thank you, for the apology,” you say. Then you venture a little further, not fully prepared for any potential answer, “What was the stupid thing?”

“Well, it’s not going to happen.” A blush creeps up his neck, and he can't look you in the eye. 

You take a step closer to him, as though you hadn't given your heart enough trouble today physiologically. You tilt his face towards yours, and plant a light kiss on his lips. “Something like that?” 

“Well–”

“Or something more like this?” 

You plant your lips on his mouth and feel him immediately mold into your kiss. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you tighter to him while your hands drape around his neck and find that gorgeous silky hair. How can someone be so gentle yet so rough? His hold on you is firm, yet his hands move across your back with the careful tenderness of a potter shaping a vase.

You dance your fingers lightly across his collar bones and move your hands to his chest, and you push away slightly and open your eyes. His stay shut, and he exhales deeply. The goofy grin on his face inspires a similar one on yours, and you lean in and kiss him again. And again. And again. You hear a little flustered noise and Cisco cups your head, making sure your mouth stays on his this time, which makes you giggle a little. 

You're not quite sure how long you stand there, in the middle of the lab, entwined in each other. All you know is that when he and you mutually end the kiss, your heart is satiated. Both the anguish of desire and the anxiety of uncertainty are quelled as you lay your head on his chest and he strokes your hair. In this instant, the world around you could be burning and you wouldn't so much as glance at it. In this instant, you feel elation in its purest form. 

There are few times in your life that you will recognize important moments as important. This is not one of those times. This is a moment that you want to be the start of something, something that _will_ be of meaning to you, and so you cling to it. You let the moment last as long as it possibly can, memorizing every detail, every sensation, because you don't want to look back on this moment and find it blurry. 

When it ends, there's no bittersweetness, just smiles and interlocking fingers as you turn to address the superhero who had just whooshed into the room, who looks rather uncomfortable at having been here for even the tail end of such an intimate moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spellcheck didn't think “whooshed” wasn't a past participle so ya heard it here don't just use it for onomatopoeia whoosh is a verb


End file.
